Castle of Shadows
by M. Night Wolfalona
Summary: When the gang gets in a bad car accident in the middle of nowhere, they are forced to spend a few nights in a place that may cost them their lives. 3rd & 4th Chapters are now re-edited and freakier then ever. Please R&R. CURREENTLY ON HIATUS.
1. The Arrival

**Hello. This is my story, and will be much darker then anything you've ever known in future chapters. I am currently re-editing, so look over some of the older chapters for better quality if you will. If you do not like evil or being creeped out in any way or form, then I warn you now that this story may not be your cup of tea. **

**You have been warned. Now read on.**

**DISCLAIMER: Nope. Bye. **

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**_Castle of Shadows_**

_by_

_Wolfalona_

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_Chapter One: Arrival_

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It was raining the night that they arrived. The night that had changed everything.

An old, decrepit man stared out of the window of the dark and dismal prison that he had once called home, little more then a ghost of what he'd once been. His worn and weathered clothes appeared faded in torn in the candlelight that came from the black hunk of wax that sat on the table next to his right arm, alongside a glass of what appeared to be wine. A roaring rumble of thunder shook the castle, and the light flickered unsteadily, as the wind blew harshly in through the window. And nearby, sheltering beneath many a darkened corner, the shadows twisted in anticipation as the candle threatened to go out; it was the only thing that kept them from leaping upon his frail, forgotten form even now.

He began to stretch out a shaking, withered hand to try to shield the tiny light, but quickly withdrew it when a growl sounded from behind his chair, knowing exactly what it was that bore its eyes into the back of the armchair in which he was seated. Its eager eyes gazed upon its prey, waiting for the moment when her master deemed him useless and disposable at last, and when she could finally sink her teeth into his flesh. She could already feel the human's blood gushing down its throat, the warm, thick liquid pulsing slightly, leaving the sweet, salty tang of iron afterwards. She licked her lips; she could hardly wait. Already his fear pulsed throughout the room, making the shadows around them writhe with delight, for the smell of fear would always drive them mad.

_**NO, Sangue! **_A voice rang through the air. The shadows stopped abruptly at the sound of their master's hiss, and the old man's glazed-over eyes cleared again, a muddy shade of black. A dark form appeared at the doorway, and the air around them all suddenly, yet surreptitiously, felt colder then ice. _**I still need him, even in this state. I need a loyal sevant in order to survive, or, at least, until a strong, healthy human being comes by here again, and that might be a while. If you must, gnaw on his soul for a while, but nothing else.**_

The creature growled in annoyance, but backed away, her drool splattering the carpet. _**That's a good girl. You'll get some fresh meat soon.** _The beast gazed towards the door. _**Not the child. She's mine, and mine only. Remember that now.**_

The creature snarled angrily in reply at this new frustration. She was tired of waiting, tired of all of the fruitless tasks he sent her to do. She turned on her paws, and as she was preparing to leap upon and tear apart what was left of her master's body, when the sound of tires screeching and metal scraping against granite tore through the silence of the storm. The old man's head snapped up, and the shadows stopped their intricate dance in the ever-fading candlelight. He rose from his chair as quickly as his trembling knees would allow him to, and rushed over to the window, wondering just what could've made such a terrifying noise. And what he saw shocked him.

A pillar of black smoke floated lazily into the sky as the brightly colored van laid, bruised and battered, in the rocky trench. Its wheels spun uselessly in the air, the underbelly of the once-gentle, rolling creature crushed inward. Any occupants inside would surely be dead; or, at least, dying. Even from here, the man could smell blood; and if he could smell the blood of the victims from this distance, the shadows most certainly could.

As he stood there, watching the rain slowly dissolve the smoke, The Master spoke again._**Looks like you'll be able to gorge yourself on fresh blood sooner then you thought, my pet. It smells like…one Great Dane-you've never had **__that__**before, I'd bet, now haven't you? - one blond male, age 21, with a bit of an ego, too; a redhead, age 20, rather feisty; a brunette, short, quiet, age 18; and there's someone else. Someone familiar...I've smelt their blood before, but who-**_ He stopped in mid-sentence, seething with disbelief and rage. _**NO! **NO!** THIS CANNOT BE! HE SHOULD BE DEAD! **DEAD!** HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?** H__OW IS HE STILL **ALIVE!?!?**_

"I don't know," the old man replied, speaking for the first time. "How am **I **still alive?"

The Master's head whipped around, his icy black-blue eyes blazing with fury. _**Don't make snide comments around me, Ombra Scorretto. Unless you **_**want**_** your daughter to become like you?**_

"No. She shouldn't have to go through what I did. Forgive me, Master."

_**You are forgiven, for the time being. I still need you to move around for me, to strengthen me with more blood, more souls, more shadows. As much as I hate to admit it, I do need you.**_

The ambiance in the room became awkward. "What will you do about them?" Ombra motioned towards the window, where the crushed van still laid uselessly on its back.

He was silent for a few minutes. _**Bring me the dying boy. Kill the rest. And bring Sangue with you. She needs to be fed**. _The creature's head perked up at the sound of her name. _**So do I, for that matter. Bring whatever remains of the corpses with you.**_

"What? I-I can't do that! I won't!"

_**Think of your daughter. Think of what I can do to her.**_

"I-I'm sorry, but I absolutely refuse to murder someone. I will be a host for you, I will lure people here so your shadows can do what can only be described as devouring, I will cover these murders up, hell, I'll even frame people of 'em, but I will never, EVER, kill an innocent human being for you! I would rather die than murder someone who was once the same age as my daughter. It would be like killing her in my eyes."

The Master stared at him with his frozen steel eyes. _**Are you sure you mean that?**_

"Yes," the old man replied, more surely then he'd ever felt in his entire, long, meaningless life. "Yes, I am."

_**Then start running.** **You have one hour before I release Sangue upon you. **The dark, obscure form glided over to the open window, beckoning to his pet to come to his side, as he stared outside at the tumultuous clouds that were gathering, and the lightning that even now burned his eyes. _

Ombra wrenched the candle from the table, ignoring the wax that burned its way down his fingers and hobbled over to the doorway, his cane shaking slightly in his sudden fear and freedom. Before leaving, he turned towards where his now-former master once stood. He spoke only two words -- "Thank you." -- before he disappeared down the imposing, rotting staircase and headed outside, ignoring the ever-growing sound of thunder and the sound of ticking which came from his pocket watch, as it counted down the last seconds of his life, no longer a listless slave, but a man with a mission. He had to help those young kids escape before the shadows consumed them as well. They didn't deserve the fate that he had been forced to live. They were too young for that sort of life. He could only hope that he would reach them in time.

As Ombra gradually made his way towards where the van was wrecked in the deep and rocky trench, the Master stared out the window, watching him like a hawk watches its praise while absentmindedly stroking Sangue's ears. She drooled impatiently; she had wanted to rip the servant's body apart for over a hundred years, and now she would finally get her chance. She tugged against her stiff silver-and-steel collar, knowing that once it was off, she would be free to hunt in the night again.

_**Patience, Sangue,** _The Master chided her gently. _Y**ou'll get your chance soon enough, but we must keep our promises. We always keep our promises, now don't we?** _He chuckled as his old vessel stumbled towards the wreck, the cold rain beginning to fall like daggers upon his skin. His laughter reverberated throughout the land, sending shivers up the old man's spine. That laughter was enough to wake the dead; or, in this case, those who were lying unconscious in the small, now crushed, Mystery Machine...

**~-~-~-~-~-~**

Scooby Doo sluggishly opened his eyes to see that he was on the ceiling.

"Rikes! R-I'm rupside rown!" he cried, and he quickly strapped himself in on one of the seats in the front. "Rah, ruch retter."

His shocked cries quickly aroused the rest of the gang, who had already begun to awaken, however drowsily so. Daphne was the first to notice where Scooby now was situated, rather uncomfortably I might add. "Scooby, what are you doing on the ceiling?" He swivelled his head around to look down at her.

"R-I'm rot on the reiling. Rou r'are."

"Scooby, we are not on the--" Velma paused, and, after putting on her glasses and looking around, "Well, what do you know. We _are _on the ceiling. But, how did we get there?" Everyone looked towards Fred, who looked just as puzzled as everyone else.

"Hey! Don't look at me. The last thing I remember was being yanked backwards back here. Does anyone remember anything else?"

"Well, I remember sitting in the front," Daphne commented. "Then I think you hit something, dear. Or something hit us. Then we were pulled back here and something was thrown over us. What do you think it was?"

"This." Velma lifted the edge of the thick, black tarp that they were all currently sitting on. "It's the tarp Fred covers the Mystery Machine with when it rains really heavily, or whenever it hails, however rare that may be."

"I also use it for traps," he added.

She rolled her eyes at him at that statement. "Anyways," she continued, "it softened the blow."

"Rhat row?" Scooby asked her, his face bright red from all the blood rushing to it.

"Scooby, get out of that!" Fred scolded. Scooby dropped to what was now the floor with a heavy _thud, _his landing softened by Fred's occasionally dense head_. "Ow! _That hurt, Scooby! Next time, could you _please_ just watch where you're landing?"

"Rokay. Rorry Reddy."

"Will you two _please _stop interrupting me?" Velma snapped at the two males, each of whom was rubbing his sore head while giving each other sore glances alongside of them. "What I meant is that it softened the blow of the crash for us, so that we weren't injured farther than the point of a few bumps and bruises. Maybe a sprained ankle or wrist, but that's the worst we could've gotten. We got really lucky, gang."

"Rhere's Rhaggy?" Scooby asked as he looked around the slightly crumpled space. It was then that they realized that Shaggy wasn't in the van; and that one of the back doors had been ripped off of its hinges on its journey downhill.

**Side note: Sangue is pronounced (sahn-gwee). What do you think of this chapter (edit)? Two will be edited soon. Enjoy.**


	2. Death and Life Again

Hello again. This is my freshly re-edited chapter, and will be much better in form of writing quality. I can tell you now that there will be much more horror input then there was before.

You have been warned. Now read on.

DISCLAIMER: Shame that I don't. But can you imagine this as an actual episode aired on TV? Neither can I; that's why I don't own it. Bye.

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_Chapter Two:_

_Death and Life Again_

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The gang reluctantly crawled out of the now-completely battered Mystery Machine into the cold, wet rain to inspect the damage. And it wasn't pretty.

The van was an absolute mess. It had flipped as it had tumbled down into the rocky gulch, and was now upside down, its nose buried in the rocks. The wheels were spinning uselessly in the air, three of them slashed to nothing but hanging shreds of rubber, and the fourth one nowhere in sight. The once-brightly colored sides were now coated in dirt and mud, the paint job scraped and scratched so that the words were almost illegible, and the metal sides were almost completely crushed in. There was no spot on the entire van that hadn't been, at the very least, dented, and the windows were shattered, leaving only a few fragile pieces of glass left in the frames. The door that had been torn off when the van had rolled over down the rocky gorge was to be seen further up the slope, and the doors were hanging and several awkward angles.

To say it bluntly in a nutshell, the Mystery Machine was trashed. And, needless to say, so was Fred. Now, in most situations, most people who would've survived such a horrible accident and emerged from it unscathed wouldn't've given a rat's furry black ass about what had happened to the car. But of course, there are those few who see the damage of a beloved vehicle they may have driven since high school and let out a wail. Which is exactly what Fred did at that moment.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" he cried out. "My baby, she's—she's ruined! Noooooooooooooo." He collapsed to his knees, and had almost begun to cry. Velma and Scooby just rolled their eyes, but Daphne, being the loyal girlfriend, knelt next to him and tried to comfort him.

"Fred, get over yourself. It can be fixed. I think." Daphne said. And even as she said this, one of the front doors, which had already been hanging off of its hinges, fell off, scraping a bit against the rough ground. At this, Fred let out another wail, and buried his head in his hands. The redhead just sighed, and threw her arms up in the air, exasperated by his behavior, and moved away.

"Roh, rhut it." Scooby snapped at him. "Re rotta rind Rhaggy. Re right be rurt."

"Scooby's right, guys. Fred, get over yourself. The van can be fixed, it'll just take a while to fix it. For the meantime, we have to find Shaggy. He might be hurt really badly. I mean, who knows? He might even be dying." Velma started to look around for any sign as to where he might be.

"Oh, be serious, Velma. I bet he's fine. He probably just went to find a—" Daphne was cut off by a shriek. She and the gang looked over to where it came from.

Velma was staring at something. Her face was white. "Velma, are you okay?" Fred asked. "Velma?"

She could only gape and point at the sight before her eyes, her hand shaking violently. And as the gang approached her, they too saw what she was seeing, and gasped at what they saw. "You don't think—It can't be—R'It's rot—"

"I think it is," Velma stated, struggling not to overreact to the situation at hand. It was then that everyone snapped to the task at hand, searching the area around them frantically, calling out Shaggy's name, desperate to hear a response.

For what the bespectacled girl had discovered was something startling, something frightening, something that made them cringe in fear.

The spattering of their friend's blood across the rocks around them.

(6)--(6)--(6)

The darkness was growing.

The shadows were gathering.

And Shaggy was more afraid then he had ever been in his entire life.

He struggled to breathe; his thin, lean body was adorned with numerous wounds. He could barely remember what had happened. All he could recall was a flash, a thunderous crack, struggling to do... something to help someone he loved dearly, slipping, tumbling, falling, then--

Pain. Harsh, unadultered, throbbing, nauseating, red pain. And he'd been here ever since.

He tried to sit up, and yelped as something scraped against the fresh, bleeding wound. A rusted steel spike had pierced his stomach during the tumble, and it seemed to be lodged in him rather securely. Blood was everywhere. It was all that he could see; that and the grey sky.

Blood and sky. Blood and sky. Soon the two had blurred together. To him, it was raining blood from the heavens, an apocalyptic storm that made everything around him go still and numb, as if the world had been injected with morphine and had slowed to a complete and silent halt. And yet, he found that this feeling of senselessness and numbness felt good. Death wasn't so bad in its final moments, he mused amusingly.

It felt good to die.

It was now that the shadows started to swirl about his vision, making the sky above him turn a beautiful shade of black, and causing the world around him to blur together.

Blood and shadows. Shadows and sky. Blood and sky. Sky and shadows. It cycled round and round, never once bothering to cease its dizzying movements, and it was all that he was capable of being aware of in the little life that was left in him.

It was all that he knew enough to know about at the moment. And nothing else mattered.

The world around him was muted and soft, except for the sound of rain as it washed his blood away, down the cracks and crevices in the old, worn stones, while the shadows slowly crept across his icy, death-chilled flesh. The cool, inky darkness felt good to his hot, fevered skin; it was all he could recognize when it came to feeling anything.

It was all that mattered to him now. So when the shadows slithered up his face, he did not fear them; he embraced them willingly.

And they took him to their domain.

They began by turning the world into a soft, dark nothing, like he felt he had now become, swirling before his eyes in a slow, intricate dance that was like nothing he had ever witnessed; he began to wonder why he had been so afraid before. The darkness was so cool, so soft, so—peaceful. It was like nothing he had ever felt.

It was bliss. And nothing more.

He found himself at the edge of an abyss, the shadows beckoning for him to join them while a dim, grey sky-like light hovered uneasily above his head. He could feel himself being willed forward, felt what he thought was his feet step calmly towards the edge; he wanted to immerse himself in the only thing that was everything and nothing, that was peace and war, love and hatred, salvation and desperation, fear and comfort, but all was darkness, no matter which way you looked at it. There was a dark side to everything, he learned, but if you knew what it was, you could control the world.

It was then that a long-dormant part within him rose up, an inheritance from a man he'd never really known passed on to an unwilling and unknowing child; it wanted to be immersed in what could only be described as true power.

And so did he.

The shadows rose to meet him; they embraced him with their cool, forgiving touch, lifting him from the ground, and making his soul feel lighter then a feather on the wind. He let them slide over his skin, through his hair, and, finally, into his eyes. He saw things like he never saw them before. Everything was clearer now; everything was real, concrete; it was the world as he'd never known it.

He finally saw the truth.

The shadows whispered a question into his ears; their voices spoke as one in a gentle, blissful sigh:

_Will you join us?_

He felt himself nod; this was what he truly wanted, all that he could ever desire from a life. All he ever wanted...

_Then step forward._

He lifted his foot, to step over the edge, and plummet him into that mystically soft, cool world of all that a person could know and do. He wanted to feel the wind against his skin as he tumbled eagerly into the darkness that awaited him below, flying into the unknown, even sooner to know what it was that was unknown to begin with. And all that it would take from him was one step. One single, tiny, insignificant little step.

One little step. He raised his arms up as if in praise and worship as the shadows themselves continued to lift him up higher into the air, surrounding his body with the sweetest silkiest strands of black that one could ever know of; and he prepared to let himself fall.

"NO!" A voice tore through the silent storm by the endless abyss, and the intricate little dance stopped abruptly at the intrusion. They turned, as one, towards the one who had dared to stop their ceremony, and kept them waiting for their newest servant. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE ANOTHER, SO LONG AS I EXIST!" An old man hobbled towards them with amazing speed. He reached up and grabbed them by the arm and yanked them down, tugging them along with surprising strength. "Come along, boy, you're coming with me."

They resisted. They wanted to stay. They wanted to stay in the silence that was The Darkness. They didn't want to leave, to go back to the harsh, cruel world that was _Life._

They wanted to stay, and they were going to; even if it ended up killing them all. But it seemed that the old man wasn't going to take no for answer, and this was seen at the shocking actions that he did next. He roared out with a gutteral war cry; and, with a strength and anger that seemed almost inhuman, he ripped away the spike that had lodged itself within the torso of the new creature, pulling away the shadows from their newly gained host.

And they screamed.

The sound of a shadow as it screams is like no other, especially if it is removed forcefully from its prey. Imagine the sound of bloody fingernails scraping across a chalkboard; the scream of a young girl as she is raped and murdered by a close and trusted confidante; the snarl of a rabid dog as it attacks the master it once adored; and the howl of a dying wolf on a moonless night. Now combine them all together, and multiply it by 13.

That was the scream of a shadow as it was ripped apart.

The horrendous shriek of those cruel and deciving dark tendrils echoed throughout the gorge. The gang tried to block their ears, but it was to no avail; it shot thorugh to their souls, and would be a part of their memories for a very long while yet. A few miles away at the castle, The Master smiled, a malicious, twisted sight to behold on one so heartless and cruel. The Bloodbeast by his side howled at this wondrous sound of torture and pain. Ombra barely flinched; he had heard it so often, it scarcely bothered him any more.

And the hearts of the dead beat once more.

**(6)--(6)--(6) . . . . . . . . . (6)--(6)--(6)**

Shaggy opened his eyes to a grey, shadowed world that was speckled widely with crimson.

He tried to sit up, so as to see where he was, and collapsed almost instantly upon the rough and rocky ground. A sharp spasm of pain ran throughout his torso, and he yelped in pain at the throbbing around his wound grew worse. He screwed his eyes shut as the pulsing grew worse; and for some strange reason, now found the darkness comforting. It was strange of course, but if it took his mind off of whatever had happened to him, it was alright in his book; or at least, he thought it was.

"Stay still, my boy, I'm trying to get this thing out." An old, yet familiar voice greeted him. "Now, I'm gonna do this as quickly as I possibly can, so be prepared for a bit of pain."

"Be prep—?" he murmured, before the first wave of pain hit. He gasped; he couldn't believe how much this hurt.

A second wave rippled throughout him. He yelped again, his stomach burning as the spike was, slowly, extracted. Every time the spike seemed to slow, or hit a part where it began to shred part of a sensitive nerve or organ tissue, another surge of pain would ripple throughout his entire body, making him yelp like a starving dog would when a nail was being removed from its paw in an agonizingly slow manner.

Only it was so much worse then that in so many ways.

There was, however unlikely it may seem, one good side to this horrible, pulling, ripping, grinding, tearing, throbbing bloody pain: The gang, who'd been growing more and more panicked since they come across the now-clean rocks, had heard his cries of pain, and were coming to investigate what had made them.

They arrived just as the spike had finally been removed, coated thickly with crimson and skin bits. Ombra tossed it aside, where it landed with a clatter at their feet. Velma picked it up curiously, and when she saw just what it was slathered rather grotesquely with, she quickly dropped it . As the spike clattered yet again to the ground, it grasped the old man's attention; and when he turned towards the new intrusion, they saw what had really happened to their friend.

Shaggy was, in a fair but crude description, like the survivor of an attack by a horror movie monster. A gaping hole stood out against his blue t-shirt, rapidly soaking through the rest of his clothing, marking where his stomach and abdomen had once resided, torn through violently by the remainder of old iron stakes once used for a hiking trip that had made its way towards the gorge about 50 years before him. His face was scratched and bruised, an open gash oozing ominously on the side of his head. One of his legs was twisted the wrong way, almost certainly broken, and the skin of his right forearm was almost nonexistant. He was a car wreck victim and a rabid animal attack rolled together, losing blood more and more rapidly by the second; and it was then that the gang came screeching to a sudden realization that almost made their hearts stop:

He was probably going to die. And he was going to do it very, very soon.

A sound startled them from their stunned, still observation of their friend. "No chance you know this boy, do you?" The old man gestured towards the poor, hurting hippie, who was lying on the ground, whimpering every time he tried to move. His blood was oozing out faster, now that the steel spike had been removed. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth as he lay there, gasping for what were easily his final breath. And the gang could only stare, fear and panic pounding through them faster and faster as the seconds passed them by. Scooby was the first to break free of this paralysis.

"RHAGGY!" he yelled as he bounded forward, quickly skidding to a stop and sending gravel skipping across the rocky and muddy terrain. He sat down besides his dying master, and licked his face tenderly, as if his canine saliva could heal his best friend's wounds and just make everything that had happened that night go away, like a bad dream does whenever someone curls up with a beloved stuffed animal and a flashlight underneath a soft, warm blanket with a friend nearby in case the nightmare happens to return. And no one could blame the giant Great Dane for this; he loved his buddy, and didn't want him to die. Not like this.

Ombra, while all this was happening, just sat there, appearing to be mildly interested in the dirt and dried blood that lay trapped benath his old, frail fingernails. "So you _do_ know him."

The rest of the gang had come over and kneeled by Scooby and Shaggy's side, worried looks seemingly carved into their young, innocent faces; they'd seen many things, but they'd never experienced death in such a harsh and personal way before, and it was startling to see for ones who'd never seen such a bloody scene save for in bad horror flicks. At the old man's casually disinterested words, they all glared at him angrily. "Of course we know him, he's our best friend," Velma spat out, both bitterly and mournfully. "Or, rather, he _**will**_ have been our best friend. He's gonna die if we don't get him some help soon, and there doesn't seem to be any around for miles." At this, Scooby let out a long, pitiful wail, as fresh tears poured out of his large brown eyes. "Oh, Scooby." The bespectacled girl brought him closer to her side, stroking his large furry head comfortingly, as she stared helplessly at the man she cared so deeply about. As she held Scooby's head in her lap, she asked the old caretaker, "Can't you do anything to help him?"

He seemed momentarily startled by the question, but quickly recovered. "I think that there might be something, but let me introduce myself first. My name is Ombra Scorretto, and I'm the groundskeeper and head servant of Maledire Castle. I also have a—" He was interrupted by a sudden spluttering from the almost-lifeless form that lay before him.

It was so strange; even though his lungs burned like icy fire, his blood was seeping out of him at a rate of sevral pints per minute, and there was a gaping hole in his side and stomach, the boy somehow found the strength to speech, all the while feeling disconnected with the world around him and the people he cared about most. A single, simple question wheezed out through his sandy throat, and a wave of cold settled upin his skin again and again, waves of ice upon a tired, worn-away cove along the ocean.

"Did you j-just say—Maledire?" Shaggy struggled to sit up, but collapsed as the now-familiar icy wave rippled throughout his battered body. He gritted his teeth, but a whimper still managed to escape past his torn, gritty lips. Ombra looked at him admiringly as he managed to get to his elbows; he wouldn't have been able to move without screaming, yet, somehow, this young man was talking to him -somewhat, anyways- and struggling not to pass out.

"Yes," He answered him, "why?" This was not going to be good, the older man thought suspiciously, wondering what the answer would be. If this boy knew of the Maledire name, only trouble could follow; of that, he was certain. "Well, come along boy, tell me why that name rings a bell for you, hurry it up now."

Shaggy's breathing became harsh. He was on the verge of passing out again, and he was starting to see black spots swirl in front of his eyes, but he had to stay conscious. He had to find out what this man knew of what his mother had so feared once, and told him to as well. "I—My mother—knew family of that name." He gasped, struggling even harder now to breathe. His lungs didn't seem to be working, and the world was starting to turn grey again.

"Answer me, boy! What else do you know about the name Maledire?" Ombra grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his face closer so that they were eye to eye, ignoring his cry of pain, and the outcry of protest that arose form his distressing friends that stood by his side. "Tell me now and I'll help to try and close up this hole in your stomach."

"Stop it! Can't you see that he's in pain? He's gonna die if you don't help him, so stop playing games and do what you need to do to help him!" Velma cried. She was on the verge of tears, some of which had already slipped down her cheeks, fogging up her glasses. As she took them off, her hands shaking as she tried to clean them on the hem of her soaked-through sweater, the decrepit servant felt a strange stab of pity shoot through him. The girl reminded him so much of his daughter... He shook his head clear of the fog of memories that threatened to descend on him; it definitely wasn't what he needed right now. But he acquiesced, nonetheless, and loosened his grip on the dying boy, trying to ignore the sniffling sounds that came from behind.

"That all depends on whether or not your friend will talk." Ombra said, indifferent to the boy's condition of life, and continued his staring contest with Shaggy. His eyes were so familiar, but he couldn't tell why. They sat like that for a few minutes before Shaggy finally spoke, his breath coming in sharp wheezes, the most unexpected words that Ombra could've ever anticipated to hear:

"First—husband—named—Male—dire," he rasped. And a slew of memories assaulted the old man, almost forcibly knocking him down, as the thunder rumbled in the distance. The Master had only had one wife... and this boy worried The Master... that could only mean...

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" He roared. He picked him up by the scruff of his blood-soaked t-shirt and threw him against a rockier area of the ground upon which they stood. "TELL ME! WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" As the old man advanced on the bloodied body of the bewildered beatnik, the gang rushed over and shoved him back roughly before he could attack their friend again. Despite all that was going on, the boy managed to speak up again.

"I—said—that her—first husband—was named—Male—dire," he replied, barely able to breathe now. His blood was pouring out much quicker now; if he didn't receive medical attention soon, it would be too late to save him. "But—why—would you—be interested—in that?"

The gang turned to stare at the old man, who was panting heavily from his outburst, just realizing how strangely he had reacted. "No—No reason. No reason at all," he stammered, quickly shaking it off as he strode towards the group of protective people again, pushing past the blond one who'd refused to get out of his way, kneeling down by his side. "Now, let's see about getting you fixed up, now, shall we?" Ombra siad as he changed the subject, inspecting the torn and empty wound. "It's a wonder that you're still alive." He began prodding around the hole, his fingers like sharp, bony icicles, causing the boy to wince frequently; that is, if one could call it wincing. He was barely able to move, much less grimace at any more pain then he could already deal with. "I think that I can patch this up somewhat until we can get you lot away from here, but it's gonna take some time."

"H-H-How l-lo-long?" the young man managed to choke out. Everything was turning black now. He could barely make out the reply, it sounded so distant. He could hear the gang talking to him, but it seemed incoherent, and patchy. Was it reassurance, or final goodbyes? He wished that he knew. Maybe it would give him peace in this pain that felt as if it had existed in his life for an eternity. It was now that he knew he oculd no longer hold off the inevitable. He stopped trying to cling to the light, and let himself sink into the comforting darkness; and as he did so, Shaggy heard something that chilled him to the bone:

A long, low guttural howl of a beast that was like no other, and a strange pounding that reverberated throughout the rough and rocky terrain around him, the ever-approaching pawsteps of a beast as it raced to greet its prey.

Ombra's hour was over.

The hunt had begun.

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**Maledire is pronounced (mal-leh-DEER-ay). That is all. Also, was this a good chapter (edit)? Let me know with a review if you're new. Thankies.  
-Wolfalona-**


	3. Surprise

**Hello there, how are you? ****I am re-editing this chappie before going onto the sixth one due to popular demand of there actually BEING a sixth one. So enjoy, for the next chapter will be up soon.**

**DISCLAIMER: If I did own it, there would've never have been a SASDGAC. Case closed.**

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_Chapter Three:_

_Surprise_

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Ombra's eyes widened as he heard Sangue's howl ripple throughout the gorge, and his body flooded with an icy dread. No, it couldn't have been an hour already! he thought, as he began to tremble uncontrollably. It was only then that he realized just what he'd done. At the spur of the moment, in a fit of disgust and disbelief, he'd thrown away everything that mattered to him: his home, his immortality. His daughter... Oh God, what had he done? All to save some stupid kids who would end up dying anyways. He was a fool, an idiot, and now a dead man, for his one, selfish hour was over; now, what was left of his soul would be devoured, and no mercy would be shown.

And while he came to these sudden, harsh epiphanies, the gang was watching him, waiting for him to tell him what was going on; and, more importantly, to help try to save their friend.

"Uh, Mr. Scorretto?" The old man's head snapped up at Daphne's voice, which, all of a sudden, seemed to be far too loud in the silence that had descended upon the gorge. "What was that?" And the silence swept in again, hovering over everyone's heads heavily, as they waited for an answer.

"That?" Ombra finally said, after a few moments of contemplation, which seemed much longer in their quiet surroundings,"That was something that you shouldn't _ever_ have to hear."

"Again, what exactly was that?" Fred asked him impatiently. The gang's frustration was growing, and the old manservant could feel it in the tension that hung between them all.

Ombra sighed. He'd have to tell them the truth; since they had no way to escape their death, they might as well know what was going to kill them. As well, it wouldn't do to keep secrets from those who were going to perish anyways. "Fine. I might as well tell you, since you're gonna die. That was The Master's pet BloodBeast, Sangue."

"R-Rhat's ra R-RoodReast?" Scooby stuttered out from behind Velma's legs, quivering like there was no tomorrow, which, for him, might have been true in the situation at hand.

At this, the old man snorted. They didn't know what a BloodBeast was? Dear God, they were stupid. "I know about your little group. You've solved—what, a few hundred? —mysteries, AT LEAST, and you've never heard of a BloodBeast? Pathetic," he spat, leaving the youngsters looking rather taken aback at what had just been said about them. The smallest was able to shake it off quickly.

"Just tell us what it is, please," Velma begged him, as she tried not to break down into tears and beg him to fix her friend that lay serenely at his feet. "By what you're saying, it almost sounds as if our lives are at stake."

When the bespectacled girl finished this statement, Ombra did something very startling, and very strange: He began to laugh uncontrollably, wheezing and cackling in a strange, cacophonous way. "SOUNDS like? My dear girl, _ALL_ of your lives are most CERTAINLY at stake. You have no idea what this _thing _can do. I, however, have been forced to watch it feed, and I can tell you that it is one of the most horrifying things on this earth to witness, much less live through. Or rather, to die from." He chuckled. "For no one, and I mean NO ONE, has ever looked that creature in the eye and lived. And now, it's my turn to feel that beast's teeth in my stomach."

"And us? Will we—will we die, too?" Daphne asked him, deep inside already knowing what the answer was.

"Yes, you will all die. But do look at the bright side. Your friend—Shaggy, was it?—is already dead, so you don't have to worry about him suffering anymore." And with these words, the gang gasped, horrified and heartbroken, and Scooby burst into tears, curling up besides Velma's feet as the rest struggled not to cry in the same way.

"He-He's dead?" Fred choked out, as he pulled Daphne closer to him, forcing himself not to look at his friend's lifeless body.

"Well, yes." Ombra looked at his nails, seeming to be bored by everything; in reality, he was just trying to distract himself from his own, painful demise that was soon to come. "There was really nothing I could do for him. You see, he was too far gone for me to fix, too much blood lost and some organs almost completely destroyed. Besides, he had already seen the Abyss, already absorbed the shadows. You can't do all of that and still expect to live. They're already taking his body. See?" He pointed over to where his body lay, the rain already washing away his faded blood. Their eyes widened at what they saw, and Scooby stopped crying.

The shadows were slithering all over his body. They played delicately in and around his numerous wounds, and ruffled his hair. They slid in and out of his mouth, and wrapped themselves around his limbs, gliding over his skin like snakes.

They were, indeed, slowly devouring their friend.

Scooby growled angrily and started forward, as did his other friends. They weren't going to let anything get in the way of stopping something from taking their best friend away from them, not to be desecrated and fed to--to-- to whatever these** things** were.

It was then that a harsh, low, guttural growl rumbled behind them, shaking them to their bones and to their very core. The gang stopped, as they remembered the creature that the old man had spoken of, now terrified for their own lives, as they all turned around to face the most frightening thing that they'd ever seen.

Alright. Maybe one thing would get in the way.

**_(--9--0--9--)_**

They were back.

But it was different now. They weren't here to take him, or to force him over the edge into their deception of Reality.

They were healing him.

A familiar chill arose as the shadows once again danced lightly across his skin. He could feel his heart start to beat agin in a slow and comforting mantra, the blood gradually starting to flow again. He felt his stomach start to knit together, the blood vessels reconnecting, muscles joining together again. New skin flowed across his torso like a rippling sea, his many cuts and bruises fading away. Broken ribs that had pierced his lungs rose back into place, and the marrow melded together like hot, liquid iron, straightening out his broken leg and snapping it back into place. He took a slow, tentative breath, and found that he could breathe again, his fingers twitching as feeling spread throughout his now perfectly repaired body. He could only wonder…

Shaggy opened his eyes, and saw the endless grey sky stretched above him, rain falling lightly all around him.

He was alive. But his stomach—was it really fixed?

He sat up. The agonizing, stabbing pain he had felt was gone. He looked down.

The hole was gone.

The shadows had healed him. They had saved his life.

Shaggy breathed out a sigh of relief, only then realizing that he had been holding it. He laid back and closed his eyes.

He was alive.

He couldn't believe it. He was _alive_.

He laughed at the way he was acting, and at how he was feeling in that one, miraculous moment. The rain felt cool, the air was wonderfully fresh, and he was _alive_, if acting a little crazy. But he couldn't help himself. He felt clean, new, almost reborn, and he was _alive_. He laughed again. He had to stop acting this way, but he just couldn't help himself. For one blissful moment, he was content, as the rain seemed to sweep away all traces of the pain and suffering that had occurred only moments before.

That was before he heard the screams; and before he smelt the pungent, metallic scent of blood as it filled the air.

He sat up quickly, a small twinge of pain humming throughout his stomach. Of course there'd be some pain left afterward; almost his entire stomach had been destroyed when the spike went through.

The thought was soon forgotten as an ear-splitting roar echoed throughout the gorge; the sound of flesh being torn from the bone, and blood splattering onto the surrounding stone, rang in Shaggy's ears. He stood up, and, without knowing why, headed towards where the roar had come from; but, for some unfathomable reason, he wasn't afraid. Instead, he felt a strange familiarity, almost as if he knew what lay beyond the ridge.

He crept towards the edge of the clearing where he'd been, quickly looking around for a weapon, before deciding on the cane that the old man left behind before daring to look out from behind a rock. And as his eyesd absorbed the scene before him, Shaggy gasped in surprise, while the shadows that had slunk alongside him wriggled with glee at the horrors that they beheld beside their new Master.

The sight before him was terrifying.

The entire clearing was smattered with blood, which was slowly starting to be swept away by the rain. The old man who had tried to help him earlier was laying on his side, with several slashes on his body bleeding heavily, only barely left alive. His face appeared to have aged far too much within the past few minutes, and his eyes were filled with something strange that he couldn't quite identify. And the gang... well, they were standing-- or rather, cowering-- against a large boulder, cornered by some unseen creature, with a hopeless fear shining brightly in their ever-widening eyes, as they tried to find a way out of whatever they'd gotten into in a panicked senselessness, their clothes covered in mud, dirt, sand, and smatterings of red. It was this look about them that frightened the beatnik most of all. For what is more terrifying then seeing the people you find the bravest and strongest in your life afraid for their lives and completely powerless to change their fate? The answer, of course, is simple-- nothing.

It was then that Shaggy knew that he had to, somehow, save them from whatever this thing was. It was so strange; usually, he'd be terrified to the point of desperation, and yet at the moment he wasn't at all worried or frightened of whatever he was about to face off against. Where was it anyways?

It was then that he heard a growl, more like a distant roll of thunder then anything else, echo throughout the area around them. A scattering and crunching of rocks underfoot was heard as heavy footsteps fell heavily onto the broken, gravelly ground. And as the gang began to tremble and quake even harder then before, he turned his gaze to the approaching creature as it re-entered the clearing, with shadows swirling around its feet as they did his own; and as its eyes swept the area around it, he suddenly saw why it was so familiar, and why he didn't feel afraid.

The creature was a dog.

But, not just any dog. A dog that was three times the size of an average person, with jet black fur streaked with ruby. Its muscles rippled powerfully as it growled at the four huddling humans and the cowering Dane, who were about to become its next meal. Lightening tore the sky in half, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Its jaws, lined with blade-like teeth, seemed to be carved and melded together from stone and steel, and its vicious ebony claws were still smeared with the old man's blood. The creature's eyes were a cold, harsh, silver, speckled with black and maroon. And as its eyes glared menacingly at the terrified beings before it, a name came to Shaggy's mind; one which he knew belonged to the creature. Memories which he'd never known he had were flooding back to him; and, without meaning to, he spoke.

"Sasha?" he whispered. Her head spun around at this new, sudden intrusion whose voice cut through the fearful, unsteady silende like a knife, and he clasped his hand to his mouth, hoping to stifle his now harsh and panicked breathing. But it was too late. She had heard, and she was coming to get the one who had so rudely interrupted her meal.

And it was only now that he truly began to feel afraid.

Very afraid indeed.

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**Review. Now. Please. Thanks. Bye. **


	4. Memories: No Turning Back

**Hello there.**

Here's the next chapter. Dedicated to Revriley for both sucking-up and for ordering me to add something new. But of course, she'll never know what worked in order to get this chapter up--sycophantic tendencies or blatant need for control and power. So hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha to you, Rev. :P Enjoy.

**DISCLAIMER: Because of SASDGAC, I no longer wish to own anything SD. Sad, but true. Wah. **

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**Chapter Four:**

_Memories: No Turning Back_

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Adriattacai Maledire watched like a hawk from the balcony of the staircase as his two year-old son tottered after the family's new puppy on the vast ocean of dark blue carpet, laughing gleefully as she escaped him once again. Shadow was a blessing to him, truthfully he was-- he was a son that he could be proud of. Already he was showing signs of being exceptionally strong and fit, and yet his childish innocence could make anyone smile. And while his name was strange, he was everything that Adriattacai could hope for.

_In truth, the man had everything one could only dream of having-- a beautiful loving wife, a sweet-tempered and healthy child, riches beyond his wildest dreams, immortality... power... All made possible by **him. **_

_The FallenMaster. _

_And the price for all of this seemed almost trivial--for what good does a soul do anyone? And yet, there were times when he wondered if he had made the right choice, if everything he had, all of this, was worth it. _

_**Of course it is!** a voice in his head spoke up. **You get everything a person could desire, and all you have to do is take a few people in death and blood here and there every night. It's because of Master Lucifer that you have anything at all in your life. Besides, **the voice drawled, **haven't you enjoyed the power that the shadows have given you? The control, the fury, everything... it is possible because of us. And us alone. Be grateful, Master Maledire. Be grateful, for the shadows can be kind... or they can be cruel. It is your choice; and yours alone. **_

_He smiled as he thought of the look on the chosen victim's faces as he struck them, his face twisting into a grimacing, evil smirk. He had grown to love the feel of the thick, crimson liquid as it sprayed and smattered everywhere, and the more often he killed for him, the more he grew to desire the pounding thrill that the hunt brought, the sheer force and power, the graceful fluidity of the darkness as it intertwined within his mind. His heart was now a blackened, shriveled thing; and yet he found he didn't care. So long as his darling Sara, his son Shadow, his wealth and home, were protected, and kept in the finest of everything one could offer them, it was fine. _

_As long as it was all for them. _

_He was startled out of his thoughts as a door opened downstairs, and his lovely wife graced the room with her sweet and humble presence. She looked up at him and smiled, as she pulled her honey brown hair away from her heart-shaped face, her mismatched eyes shining brightly up at him. That was what he'd always adored about her the most: her strange looking eyes, one a rich chocolate brown, the other a beautiful vivid gold-and-blue mixture. Their son had inherited a combination of her two eyes, giving him golden brown eyes, with an almost indistinguishable ring of cerulean blue around the pupil. Those same eyes watched his mother adoringly as she scooped him up in her arms, despite his moan of protest of being pulled away from their sweet, midnight black puppy Sasha. The dear little child had named her himself, after having discovered her shivering about on the doorstep in the rain. In reality, 'Sasha' was really a new tool, a new minion for Adriattacai to use in his hunts. The sweet little dear seemed to love swiping her tiny claws across someone's jugular, and licking up what came gushing out in great streams. This bloodlust seemed to personify her when she hunted with him at night. Maybe later he could get her name changed to something that meant exactly that... maybe something Italian... he didn't know yet. But it had to fit that of a Hellhound, of course; especially for the Bloodbeast breed. _

_There was, of course, the questionable matter of the creature's bond with his son. It seemed to have formed a rather strange alliance with his young son, at almost the moment they'd locked eyes; and it would do almost anything that the boy asked or implied it to do. He could only hope at this point that, with time and sufficient bloodshed, it would wear off, but he was still rather uneasy about the entire thing. But perhaps, he mused, that his son was the only reason why the puppy hadn't already evolved into a full-fledged adult; it was kept young by the innocence his own child held within his still-pure heart. He supposed that it was a good thing though. Sara would've gotten suspicious had the puppy grown too fast. He wouldn't have to tell her about the deal he'd made to keep them immortal forever. Not yet, anyways..._

_**Tell her...**_

_...the voices whispered in his ear, ever so enticingly. **Tell her, and she will forever be in your debt, bowing at your feet. She will truly be yours; just take the final step and make her so. Make her yours...**_

_But would she really do so? he thought, as she carried their now sweetly-dreaming son up the stairs, towards him, still singing that same sweet lullaby into his ears. She's so innocent, so pure, so good to me, a monster now. I am no longer truly a man, not what she fell in love with. How can I tell her of what I have done? _

_**Simple. Just open your mouth, use those things in your throat called vocal chords, and force out what we call sound to make words. Besides, **the voices hissed slyly, **this will only make her desire you more. She will give you all she has to offer, she will let you take what has always been yours by right whenever you shall please. You shall have TRUE power over all that you hold dear. And the shadows shall entwine your souls together so that you will never have to let her go. Never...**_

_But what of the boy?_

_**He will be far easier to win over. Simply show him a little attention and encouragement and he will be loyal to you until the day the world shall perish forever in our Master's brilliant burning flames.**_

_And the power would be mine? The darkness would be mine to control?_

_**Forever... it would be yours to rule over for all of eternity. **_

_Forever..._

_"Adrian? Are you alright, my love? You look a little pale."_

_Adriattacai was woken from his thoughts as his darling Sara approached him, their sleeping son resting quietly in her arms, his thumb in his mouth. She really was so beautiful... and soon she would be his eternal queen of night, a Persephone to his Hades. That analogy was more accurate then it seemed to be, he mused amusingly. A smile played lightly on his handsome face, as he turned to his lovely bride, and placed a kiss on her rose petal lips._

_"I am fine, my love. I am just thinking about the future, and what it will hold for us. The year will be ending soon, you know, and there is much left to be discussed and arranged."_

_She smiled, as she shifted their child in her arms. "Mm, you think too much, my darling. 'Tis only another year, that will lead to our unfortunate demise. Besides," she said, "why worry so much? Why not just enjoy what we have? 1846 is a wonderful time to live in, after all. So civilized, so... controlled." She smirked. "But entirely too proper, so I say." And she leaned in and gave her husband a loving kiss._

_It was then that he made up his mind. Tonight, he thought, I'll tell her. _

_**Tonight,** they said, **she will be made yours forever.**_

_As they pulled away, he smiled at her lovingly. "Darling, why don't you put Shadow down to bed? I have some business I need to conduct in my study, and I'll be finished soon enough. Will you be alright until then?"_

_"Of course, my love. I will always be especially fine with you in my life." At this, his smile grew a little wider. And a little more disconcerting._

_"That's wonderful to hear, my dear. Now, I shall return to you in a moment. Excuse me." And at that, he turned on his heel, and headed down a long, narrow hallway, leaving her far behind him. _

_"Ombra!" He called out, his deep and booming voice echoed out. A smaller, weaker man, who appeared to be about 50 or so, twice the age of Adriattacai, seemed to slink off of the walls, a tired, weather-worn look about him, as if he were tired of living, yet unable to die. As it was, this was entirely true for him; for he also was bound for eternity with the promise of immortality. However, he had not had the potential that the young Master Maledire had for darkness, for death and destruction. So he had been shoved aside, waiting to become a slave for the next new Master of whatever evil still existed out there in the world, and to do all that he could for his young daughter, to protect her as best as he possibly could from the cruelties of the world. And that protection--unfortunately--had come in the form of the young and handsome man who called upon him now. _

_"Master Maledire, I do wish that you wouldn't call on me in such a way. I do have some semblance of a life, you know." At this, the younger man shot him a look of cold annoyance from his harsh, silver-blue eyes, making him shrink against the side of the wall. _

_"Be aware of who is in control here, Scoretto. Be aware of who has the **power amongst the two of us!" **The shadows began to swirl angrily about his form, as his eyes turned to a bloodlust black; and the demons once again took hold. The entire hall began to darken and quake, and several paintings that hung on the wall fell to the soft, carpeted floor before he calmed down sufficiently enough to allow the lights to reappear. He cleared his throat, and looked down his nose upon the weak and trembling man who'd fallen to his knees, all the while motioning for the shadows to replace the fallen portraits. "Forgive me for that little outburst, Ombra. It was rather rude of me. Now, I need you to keep guard at the door of my study for a few hours. I'm going out. I have a meeting with our FallenMaster to discuss a few things. All right?" _

_The man before him could only nod in agreement; for he had never seen the demons descend upon a single person so fast, nor come to his power so quickly. He could only hope that what was fast consuming the man would not consume his family; otherwise everything he had 'worked' for, as it were, would crumble about him into dust before his very eyes. And so he slunk back into the wall, to guard the hallways and to watch over the family of the demon that now resided in what was once his own home, knowing for a fact that everything was going to end very soon. Very soon indeed. _

_Adriattacai watched him disappear into the shadows that slunk across the walls for a while, seemingly mesmerized by the swirling, endless pattern they wove across the wallpaper, before turning away and striding towards his study, which was shrouded in the twisting darkness. He looked back upon his former life, knowing that after tonight, things would never truly have a chance to be the same._

_Sara... she will not lo--_

_**She will...**_

_But how can you be sure? He asked them. For a moment, they seemed to pausing in their acrobatics, before pulling away sharply to reveal a set of purest obsidian stone doors, as polished as marble, and engraved with many a heathen sign. Then they answered him, in an increasingly seductive hiss:_

_**We are the shadows of the world. We know all, we see all. She will be yours when this is over. You will control everything around you. **_

_**Everything will be yours. And she will be by your side in darkness... forever.**_

_Forever?_

_**Forever.**_

_Adriattacai stared at the doors before him for what seemed the longest time, deep in his ever-darkening thoughts. The darkness began to grow impatient, as they wove themselves in and out between his legs, waiting for an answer. And then, finally, he made his choice. _

_He wrapped his hand around the elegantly carved handle of the door, pulling it open and slipping inside, as the shadows embraced him in a cloak of inky blackness. His eyes clouded over briefly, as he relished in the raw and naked power that opened its arms to him. His eyes now glowed like icy steel frosted over in ice, surrounded in a sea of ebony. _

_The doors closed behind them, now reverting back to their original state of a simple pair of cedar and oak. _

_And it was then that he knew:_

_There truly was no turning back now. _

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**Damn, even I'm creeped out by the creepiness of my own writing. Review and tell me what you think. Or I'll set Sasha after you.**


	5. Remembering

**Hello. Sorry for the delay, but this was a really hard chapter to write. Dedicated to Linky, so that she may (hopefully) be encouraged to stay around for longer in the SD fanfiction category. We missed you Linky, don't leave us! LOL, enjoy it guys. **

**DISCLAIMER: If I had owned it, no SASDGAC would've ever existed. Period. **

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**_Chapter Five:_**

_Remembering_

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_

_

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_

--l--

**(=)--(=)--(=)**

--l--

Ombra could only stare at what he was seeing before him.

When the boy had turned out to be alive, he'd been more then shocked; especially since that the shadows, who obeyed the Master's commands implicitly, seemed to have been the ones who'd saved him in the first place. And since the Master had wanted him dead, well... that could only mean one thing. The boy had more power over the darkness then the Master himself. And that alone terrified the poor old man.

But there was more to this scene, oh yes, of course there was more. For the young man was staring straight into the eyes of the Master's Bloodbeast... and he was still alive and well. The stranger thing was that the creature herself was making no move whatsoever to try to attack him. Rather, she was just standing there, seemingly mesmerized by the young human who dared to defy her in such a way. She slowly circled him, all the while keeping contact with the young man, and he spun around as well, never losing eye contact. He seemed to have a soothing effect on the 'dog' though, for her eyes seemed to soften the longer she looked upon him. It was so strange... it was almost as if she recognized him-- No. It was as if...

She **remembered** him...

_The old man watched from the walls as the child was brought in the house again, dripping wet onto the vast and ornate carpets, clutching a small furry bundle within his tiny little arms. He watched as his mother fretted over him, scolding him lightly for going outside in such awful weather, while his father, a new Master in Lucifer's control, followed her, trying to get a hold of his son and the baby Hellhound that rested contentedly in his arms, soon giving up and heading up the stairs towards his 'office'. Ombra stood, patiently waiting, and, sliding away from the walls like oil off of metal, greeted his Master as he strode towards him._

_"So," he said, as he caught his first glimpse of the pup. "The Fallen One has bestowed one of his beloved pets upon you for you to use in the hunts. He must see great potential in you then."_

_"When the Fallen Master told me he was giving me a minion, I pictured something a little more... intimidating then a _puppy_, Scoretto. It's no good to me like-- well, like it is now. Are you sure that He sent it for me? Or is it just a stray that my son found outside in the rain?" Even as he spoke these words, Ombra was shaking his head._

_"No," he said. "That is one of the Fallen One's personal breeds, I'd recognize it anywhere. It's a Bloodbeast, one of the most vicious varieties of the HellHounds and if you treat it right, it will be loyal to you forever, and do all that you ask of it. Treat it badly, well... let's just say that they're known as BloodBeasts for a reason."_

_"Hm, I see." The young Master was silent for a while. "So it will be mine to control."_

_"Not exactly, sir." The man spun around, eyes flashing angrily, while the shadows slowly began to pool at his feet. Ombra hurriedly backtracked. "Please sir, let me explain. A BloodBeast will forever be loyal and forever remember that creature, whether man or monster, beaten or blueblood, with whom they first make eye contact with. It gives them a sort of... deep connection, if you will. It will mirror the soul and personality of the one who is its master, always affecting it no matter what happens to the physical and spiritual forms of the person. And it runs even deeper if it is treated kindly on first approach, which it rarely is, because of its appearance of a stray."_

_"So my son, Shadow..."_

_"...will always be seen in her eyes as her true Lord and Leader." Addriatticai was still as he stood in silent thought, watching his son cuddle what he now knew was one of the most dangerous beasts in the history of the world. He had the tiny little puppy smooshed tightly within his arms, as he nuzzled the wet and dripping dog's neck, giggling as the little one squirmed in his tight grasp._

_The dog in question however, didn't seem to mind much the tiny little human's tight hold on her own little body. In fact, it was quite the opposite; she basked in it. She twisted around and let her tiny pink tongue sweep his face clean, soon making him giggle even harder. She was rather surprised by how kindly he treated her, for in the hellish pits where she'd been spawned, they'd only been taught to know of pain and suffering, and how to inflict it upon others. She knew instinctively that her real, or rather intended, master was a much older man, but this young boy was sweet and adoring, and he'd been the one to bring her to her new, and permanent, home. So for now, she would enjoy this precious time that she had with him, this child who would bother to love the runt of the litter that she was. _

_"Well, well, well," a dark voice came from behind them, and the two turned to see the Master towering over them, his icy eyes watching their every move. "What have we here, Shadow? And who is your sweet little friend with the tiny little teeth?" The little boy, who stared up in adoration at his father, answered him in a way that made the puppy's heart just melt with love._

_"This is my new puppy, Papa." He shook out his long, tangled black hair, sending water droplets flying everywhere, laughing as the small dog in his arms squirmed to move away from the tiny wet missiles. "Her name is Sasha." Sasha? Sasha, Sasha... she rather liked that name. Sasha. She hoped that she would be allowed to keep it. The Master smiled down at them, an edge of cold amusement now lacing its way through his deep, imposing voice. _

_"Sasha?" He asked the boy, as he bent down to a crouch, before quickly scooping the dripping pair up from the rich, ornate carpets upon which they'd sat, laughing at the squeal that came from the sopping bundle in his arms. "Sasha? What a peculiar name. For a dog, that is. Are you sure you want to name her that? Don't you want to call her something a little more... appropriate for her breed?"_

_The boy pouted at these words. "No," he said stubbornly. "I wanna call her Sasha. That's her name, and that's what I want it to be. Sasha." The Master looked down on him, a tinge of anger burning in his eyes momentarily, before it disappeared, replaced with an almost-mockingly good nature. The black puppy felt a vein of ice creep slowly through her blood as she glimpsed the twisted nature of the soul of the man she would serve for eternity, knowing that she would always long for freedom because of him, as well as for the warmth that the child had spread throughout her. It was no question as to whom she would rather have command her, but she had no choice in the matter; of that, she was most certain. _

_The Master chose this moment to speak again, now that the tendril of anger that had threatened him had been successfully rid of. "Alright then. Sasha it is. Now, why don't you go get cleaned up, and I''ll see if I can't make a collar for her up in my study. Does that sound like a good idea, hm? A hot bath for the both of you, and a new owner for her?" The child nodded eagerly, and let himself slide out of his father's arms, leaving the tiny puppy to the control of a cruel and heartless being, if unknowingly. "Sara?" he called out to his wife, who re-entered the room gracefully at the sound of his voice. "Do you think that a bath could be arranged for our muddy little son here, while I get our new addition cleaned up and collared?" At this new bit of news, she sighed exasperatedly. _

_"Adrian, we don't need a puppy, not when he's this young. Besides, she looks a bit... rough for him. I don't think that this dog is appropriate for our Shadow." At this, the said puppy growled, and tried to get out of the Master's arms, causing the mother to be a bit taken aback. The child, on the other hand, moved closer to the dog and cuddled her, ceasing her worry of having to leave. At this, the Master looked up triumphantly._

_"You see, Sara? She's perfectly fine for our son, he'll be fine. Now, let's get him to stop dripping mud onto the carpet now, shall we darling?" He picked up his son and plopped his squirming little self into his mother's arms, leaving her with an exasperated sigh. "I have to go get this one cleaned up in the meantime. I'll be in my study should you need me." And with that, he spun on his heel and glided up the gilded staircase, the child and his mother disappearing from view as the Master turned the corner at the top. And when he stepped through the rapidly twisting doors, he dropped the dog to the ground, letting her fall roughly onto the bloodstained rug that had appeared at his feet._

_As the puppy struggled to rise to her tiny paws, she heard a callous sound echo coldly throughout the room. He was _laughing_, and the shadows were forming icicles on the black marble floors as he did so. Her large reddish brown eyes widened, and she saw the extent of her master's power for the very first time, as the darkness embraced him, and lifting him higher above her head. It was only then that Sasha noticed that her feet were no longer on the ground. And so the shadows consumed them both._

_Later that night, she would mercilessly slaughter her first victim. Later, the Master would beat her for not doing it as he had instructed, the first of many painful and blood-filled nights. Later, He would rename her, the new name, meaningless and yet entirely too fitting for her, an Italian word for 'blood'. And later, much later in life, she would truly learn to appreciate the tiny boy who had rescued her, played with her, and kept her innocent in so many ways; the only one who'd ever truly cared about her, loved her even, enough to risk sickness and punishment in order to take her home as a new friend and playmate. The one with eyes as clear and pure as only an angel's could've ever been, eyes the color of gold and chocolate. _

_She hadn't seen the one who was her true master in years now. And it wasn't until the night that she had planned to murder her current Master that she would find the one who had ever loved her._

_The one with an angel's soul..._

And so it was with a stunned silence that the enormous, powerful, and most feared beast in all the world, faced a tall thin young man nose-to-nose, looking him directly in the eyes, an icy blood-red black to a brillant warm gold; and nuzzled his neck, like a puppy would its mother in its sleep, much to the great surprise of everyone around them.

And it was then that Ombra recognized who he really was:

The Master's Son, Heir to the Throne of Darkness and Manipulation, the Last Line of the Maledire Blood.

_"Shadow..."_ The boy looked up from the malicious beast that so serenely sat by his side to the rasping whisper that the wind carried gently to his ears, from the bloody, fading body of the old man who'd saved his life only moments before.

Bright, innocent eyes met the fading, all-too-knowledgeable older ones, golden blue met dying brown.

And he knew.

* * *

R&R please. It would be much appreciated. Thanks. Bye now.


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